


how we are hungry

by liketheroad



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Canon Divergence - Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Captain America: The First Avenger, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-Captain America: The First Avenger, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Soul Bond, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-30
Updated: 2014-12-30
Packaged: 2018-03-04 06:05:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2954993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liketheroad/pseuds/liketheroad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The power of love and all that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	how we are hungry

**Author's Note:**

> Alternatively, this story can be summarized as follows:
> 
> Me: sorry they didn't end up getting a dog!
> 
> Rachel: BUT THEY TALK ABOUT GETTING A DOG, AND IT'S SO SWEET. STEVE LOOKS AFTER BUCKY AND EVERYONE IS A LITTLE BIT BROKEN.
> 
> So, you know. Fluffy recovery fic, basically. With a soulbond. 
> 
> Thanks to Arsenic and Rachel for audiencing, to Lu and Megan for their beta work. All remaining mistakes are of course my own.

There’s no name for it. No scientific explanation, no customs, no lore. Doctors explain it away, diagnosing his symptoms with cold, sterile-sounding words from their medical textbooks and blaming Steve’s Ma when the treatments never help, saying it’s poor nutrition, bad city air, and their dank basement apartment that are to blame.

Steve knows different, has known from the age he was old enough to know anything. He knows it’s not his Ma’s fault he’s the way he is, sick and gasping for air, knows it’s not her weakness that’s to blame. It’s something inside of him that’s broken, that’s wrong, even if he tries to believe his Ma is right when she says it’s not his fault.

As far as Steve’s ever been able to tell, there’s no one else like him, no one who needs quite this much, this way. There are no stories about it, about people like him, and he thinks he looks hard enough to be certain. His Ma calls it a gift, says it’s something that makes him special, not weak. Steve’s never been able to decide if she’s right about that. All he knows is that it’s another thing that makes him different, this need thrumming under his skin at all times, this nagging pain in his chest pulling him along. It’s another reason he’s set apart, another reason to feel like a freak.

Steve’s never met anyone like him. No one except Bucky.

***

He would have died without Bucky. No one’s ever had to tell him that, Steve just knows. He’s always known. His whole childhood before Bucky is a blur of sickness, trying to be strong, normal like the other kids in the neighborhood, fighting to keep up and always falling behind. Worried looks cast over his bed, adults muttering about him in hospital hallways, his Ma’s voice, singing to him as he fitfully tried to sleep.

Meeting Bucky changed all that, but it changed other things too. Meeting Bucky wasn’t just about getting healthy, staying alive. It was about having a reason to.

***

Bucky’s better than him at most things, and hiding his need for Steve is no different. The pull is the same but it manifests itself differently with each of them, their personalities shaping their need for each other and how they express it.

Bucky has no problem asking for what he needs, no trouble going after what he wants. He doesn’t need less than Steve, he’s just more comfortable asking for it.

Steve is stubborn, always fighting for the independence his body refuses to let him have. Proud, Bucky calls it. _Selfish_ he whispers sometimes, into Steve’s skin, when he’s hidden himself away too long, until he’s huddled on the ground, tucked into himself in a ball by the time Bucky finds him. Bucky always knows where to look, where to find him, but when Steve wants to hide Bucky lets him, allows him that choice, that freedom, until it’s too painful for them both.

The hurt is different too, but it hits both of them whenever they’re apart for too long.

Steve gets shooting pains in his back, chest palpitations, aches in his joints and muscles, suffers chronic shortness of breath, and has coughing fits that wrack his whole body, sometimes jerking so much he’ll bite his tongue hard enough to bleed until Bucky gets his hands on him, soothing the pain away with his touch. That’s how Steve needs Bucky, has needed him even before they met, barely clinging to life long enough to have Bucky change his forever.

Bucky’s different. He just gets headaches, but bad ones, growing increasingly jittery and short-tempered the longer he’s away from Steve. It’s like being starving all the time, or at least that’s what Bucky once told him. A gnawing wrongness they both feel, even if it takes hold of them in different ways.

According to all the stories Steve’s overheard Bucky’s mother tell his, before they became friends, Bucky was all hard edges and snarls, shoulders held rigid and high, eyes narrow and alert like he was waiting for a blow. Nothing like how a normal child should behave, a quiet watchfulness no young boy growing up with a family that loved him should have reason to develop, body coiled tight like a spring, waiting for some imaginary threat that never had any reason to come.

He’d been kind to his sisters, to his parents, but suspicious of everyone else. Tensed and wary. Smiling for no one he wasn’t bound to by blood.

But then he met Steve. Saved him from a playground fight Steve never should have started, sticking up for someone bigger than him, another boy who ran off as soon as Steve took his place getting pummeled.

Steve was on the ground but he was still trying to get up, kicking and flailing his limbs when suddenly another voice was yelling, pushing kids away and telling them to scram. Chest heaving, Steve watched from the ground as Bucky dealt with the circle of bullies surrounding him like it was nothing, even though they were older and bigger than him.

When they were alone, Bucky held out his hand to Steve, tutting at him as he pulled Steve up out of the mud and said, “Wait for me next time,” a little disgruntled, like he honestly expected Steve would, like he was disappointed that Steve had gotten into this fight without him in the first place. He didn’t let go of Steve’s hand.

“Cross my heart,” Steve said, feeling brave. Holding onto Bucky was making him stand taller, like his touch was straightening Steve’s spine, filling his lungs with air.

Bucky - not that Steve knew his name yet, or knew anything about him - smiled, pleased and forgiving, and tightened his grip on Steve’s hand.

Steve smiled back, and took the first clear, unlabored breath of his life while Bucky’s hand was still joined firmly with his.

***

That’s how it started, how _they_ did, but it’s only later, looking back, that Steve comes to understand why touching Bucky for the first time on the playground felt so good. Steve didn’t know it then, but that was the most important moment in his life, the one when everything changed, when he did.

They’re best friends from that moment onwards, but at first, they’re simply not apart enough to notice the difference. Steve wants to be near Bucky all the time, and he doesn’t care why, so long as Bucky wants the same thing. He acts like he does, open arms and wide smiles whenever he sees Steve, and they both throw themselves into their new friendship wholeheartedly.

Around the neighborhood, in the schoolyard, it doesn’t take long for everyone to know that if you start a fight with Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes won’t be long to follow, throwing his fists into the fray and yelling at Steve for not waiting for him at the same time. Steve always apologizes after, letting Bucky fuss over him and clean up his cuts and bruises, and Bucky always forgives him. Sometimes the bullies just don’t wait for backup to arrive, but Steve always knows Bucky will come for him eventually. He tells Bucky that sometimes, when Steve’s been worked over especially badly, and it always does something sour and then sweet to Bucky’s face, and those are the times he forgives Steve fastest for putting himself into harm’s way.

It’s not all fighting and making up, either. Plenty of times, Steve manages to keep his mouth shut, or Bucky manages to distract him from someone or something that Steve might otherwise consider in need of his aid, and they’re kids, just kids, so most of the time, distractions are easy enough to come by.

There’s baseball, the kind they watch and they kind they can play, or at least the kind Bucky can. Steve always tries to keep up, and with Bucky there, it’s a little easier, although never quite enough.

There’s school, which Steve goads Bucky into paying attention to, and occasionally even applying himself. Bucky says that school doesn’t matter yet, they can worry about it later, but Steve glares and reminds Bucky it’s always important to try your best. Even though he’s a year younger than Bucky, and half his size, Steve gets labeled the responsible one fast, the good one, and Bucky always laughs about that, muttering _if they only knew_ under his breath, grinning at Steve. The way he says it, laughter still in his voice, Steve finds it hard to believe Bucky really minds. 

Steve’s never felt healthier, never been happier, those first few months he spends with Bucky at his side, but he never lets himself think about why. They live in each other pockets so much that Steve never makes the connection, and neither does Bucky. Young as they are, inseparable best friends who spend most evenings scaling fire escapes and crawling in and out of each other’s beds, it’s easy not to notice how hard it is to be away from each other. To wonder why.

Then Bucky gets sick, measles, and Steve is told to stay away.

They both almost die that summer. Bucky keeps not getting better, and a few blocks away, Steve keeps getting worse, and no one understands why. Not until Steve’s Ma hears him calling for Bucky in his sleep, feverish daydreams and sweaty, shaking nights.

She carries him to Bucky’s apartment, knocks on the Barnes’ door until Bucky’s own mother opens up and lets them both in. Not saying a word, Steve’s Ma carries him into Bucky’s room, laying Steve down beside him in his narrow bed.

Bucky groans in his sleep, and turns over, half falling onto Steve, limbs draped over Steve’s slender frame with an unconscious tenderness. Steve starts to breathe easier immediately, even with Bucky half on top of him, the weight of his arm over Steve’s chest making his lungs feel full, his muscles starting to loosen under Bucky’s touch. Steve takes a few more deep, rejuvenating breaths, and then tucks himself in tighter around Bucky, and waits for him to wake up.

***

After that, they learn. They start to pay attention, to test their limits a little. Their mothers watch them nervously, but don’t try to keep them apart. Their teachers sometimes do, but it's a small school, and they’re in the same classroom, even though they’re a grade apart. They can’t usually touch in class, but they see each other at recess, and during lunch they sit hunched together, knees knocking off and on, sharing what food they have. Sometimes they wrestle, shoving each other around gently - Bucky is always gentle with him, even when he’s pretending to be rough - just to get their hands on each other. It’s usually enough.

They stay close whenever they can. They learn. Being near each other is good; touching each other is better. Skin on skin contact is best of all, but they can make do through layers of clothing in a pinch. They find as many ways as they can to keep close without drawing the wrong kind of attention to themselves, and when they don’t succeed, it helps that Steve already has a reputation for starting fights he needs Bucky to finish.

Those early years are full of playful scuffles and friendly, feather light touches, Bucky’s arm slung around Steve’s bony shoulders, their palms slapping together in greeting and farewell. Laughter ghosting across each other’s necks and legs pressed together at the pictures, whenever they can afford to go. Hands touching as they reach for something at the same moment, a comic book or a stick of gum, it doesn’t matter. What matters is touching, skin against skin, any way they can, any time they think they can get away with it.

***

Bucky kisses him for the first time when they’re twelve and thirteen. Steve blinks at him owlishly afterwards, touching the tips of his fingers to his lips without being able to stop himself.

Bucky watches him, and it takes a minute for Steve to realize it’s appreciation he’s seeing etched across Bucky’s face.

“Why’d you do that?” Steve asks, half afraid he’s not going to like the answer, but trusting Bucky enough to still ask.

Bucky smiles, sheepish but not ashamed, and says, “Couldn’t wait any longer,” shoving his hands deep into his pockets as he speaks.

Steve thinks about it for another minute, still carefully watching Bucky’s face, and then lets himself laugh. “All those girls wanting to kiss you for the past two years, and you’ve been saving yourself for me?” Bucky’s always made him feel brave, but this is the bravest Steve thinks he’s ever had to be.

It’s worth it because it’s Bucky.

Like always, he doesn’t let Steve down. He takes his hand instead, solemn like he so rarely is, and says, “You’re worth a little patience, Rogers.”

Steve grins, letting happiness fill his lungs, and then leans up and kisses Bucky again.

***

It’s not easy. They have to hide so much. Not just how they feel about each other - new wants vibrating under their skin, the kinds of desires no one talks about, at least not to say anything good. Those new secrets get papered over older ones, that raw physical necessity pulling them back to each other again and again, that need for each other going deeper than any crush, any love.

The older they get, the harder it is. Bucky grows up good, tall and handsome and charming, and that attracts attention. It attracts girls, dames, and Steve just hovers in Bucky’s shadow, trying not to give their secrets away but unable to wrench himself from Bucky’s side long enough to do much else. Somehow, no one notices, no one says anything funny about them, and Steve realizes soon enough that there’s a value in not being noticed, in being so thoroughly overlooked.

Steve’s a charity case, or at least that’s how most people see him around the neighborhood, at school. Small, weak, fatherless Steve Rogers. A remnant from their childhood Bucky is too soft to get rid of, an old friend he still tries to help out even though most people would have given Steve up as a lost cause a long time ago.

It doesn’t always work, but Steve tries not to let it bother him, tries to believe it’s a good thing. It helps them stay hidden, it keeps them safe, and at the end of the day, it doesn’t matter if everyone else thinks Steve’s worth nothing, not when Bucky looks at him, touches him, like he’s everything.

***

School ends. Steve’s Ma dies. Bucky still has family, but he has his own place, too, a decent job on the docks, and he badgers Steve until he finally agrees to move in.

“Not like I’m doing this out of the goodness of my heart,” Bucky grouses, when he eventually gets his way.

Steve doesn’t say anything to that. He knows everything he gets from being with Bucky, knows it in body and in soul. He’s never been quite sure what Bucky gets from him. He’s strong enough to push through the headaches, the sour moods, he could smile without Steve being there to make it easy. Steve still doesn’t understand it, he might never understand it, but he’s getting better at just accepting that Bucky will stay with him, will keep Steve close however he can, not worrying so much about why.

Moving him in doesn’t take any time at all, because he owns next to nothing and Bucky is endlessly generous. Steve’s welcome in his home, his clothes, and his bed.

Their first night sleeping together on purpose, with intent - not just haphazard tiredness and desperate need - Steve holds himself carefully, suddenly shy. Bucky lets him get away with it for a few minutes before curling up behind Steve, wrapping his arms around him, laughing softly in his ear.

“Welcome home, Stevie,” he says, and starts snaking his hand across Steve’s chest.

Steve breathes deep, and wraps his fingers around Bucky’s wrist, guiding him down.

***

Those next couple years are good ones - the best Steve’s ever known. Money is tight, they’re often hungry, but they’re together. Times are hard enough that no one pays them much attention, everyone’s too busy worrying about what’s going on in their own backyard, or across the ocean, to pay a couple of young bachelors any mind.

Left alone like they’ve never quite been before, Steve and Bucky relearn each other’s bodies in new ways, press the limits of their bond not by being apart, but by spending as much time as they possibly can wrapped together.

***

Every so often, Bucky makes them go out on the town. He finds himself a girl with a friend, and they go on very public, very awkward double dates. Steve’s not kidding himself, he knows most of the awkwardness is him. Maybe all of it - or at least that would be true if Bucky didn’t sometimes make it that much worse by getting defensive on Steve’s behalf, ignoring Steve’s date and his own in favor of putting his hand on the back of Steve’s neck and glaring at the world at large for not adequately appreciating him.

That’s typically how their nights out go, but one warm evening in the summer of 41’, they manage to have a halfway decent time with their dates, even Steve, and more improbably, Steve’s date. For all that it gets Bucky’s hackles up to see people underestimating and undervaluing Steve, it becomes steadily more apparent as the night goes on that seeing a girl flirting with Steve and laughing at his attempts at jokes bothers Bucky even more.

Steve has to be the one to end the date that night, to make apologies to the girls for not taking them dancing as Bucky had originally promised them they would.

Bucky doesn’t even bother to say goodbye, just stands a couple feet behind Steve while he tells both their dates what great gals they are, what a nice time it was.

When they’re walking home alone, Steve smacks Bucky’s arm lightly, wondering if lack of contact is part of why he’s so cranky, and when Bucky just keeps scowling, Steve shakes his head at him and says, “There’s no need to be rude.”

Bucky presses his lips together, scowl becoming even more pronounced, his pace picking up a little as he says, “Shut up, Steve.”

Steve bites his cheek to keep from smiling, “There’s no call to be jealous, it was your idea anyhow that we--”

“Shut up, Steve,” Bucky says again, but he’s smiling now, and Steve knows that if they weren’t still out on the street for everyone to see, Bucky would already be reaching for his hand.

***

With Steve’s Ma gone, it’s just the two of them who really know, who understand. Bucky’s own mother understands a bit, but she’s always tried hard not to, tried to pretend they’re as normal as she clearly wants them to be. Bucky always shrugs it off whenever Steve tries to get him to talk about it.

It’s harder than Steve thought it would be, not having his Ma there, and the passage of time just makes it worse, not better. He knew he’d miss her, of course he did, he’s still grieving even now, but this is different. This is him being selfish, but maybe that’s okay. Maybe it’s not, he doesn’t know, can’t decide. It’s just hard. Losing the one person who always told him the bond he and Bucky share is a gift, the one who always chided him for thinking it was a burden.

Bucky tries too, of course, never lets Steve get away with dumping on himself for too long, but Bucky’s in this thing with him. Bucky doesn’t have any more choice than Steve does. He never complains, never acts like he’s bothered by anything but Steve’s attempts to give him the space he thinks Bucky must want, but he wouldn’t. Bucky’s too protective of him to ever be the one doing the hurting, whether Steve deserves it or not.

Small and weak like he still is, Steve knows he’s no catch, but he tries his best to be more than just what Bucky needs. He works as hard as he can, loves as deep as he’s able, and strives with every breath to be what Bucky deserves.

When he’s not borrowing trouble, Steve reminds himself sternly to be happy. To be glad for what he has, to be grateful that Bucky stays with him, no matter the reason.

***

Once - just once, Bucky hides from Steve instead of the other way around. They’re still living together, and it’s been years since Steve tried to flee from his dependence on Bucky that way, but one night Steve comes home from art class, and Bucky isn’t there. There’s no note, no sign he’s been home at all.

It’s been a long day, hours and hours not seeing Bucky, not touching him, and already Steve feels winded, far more exhausted than he should be. It’s hard to stand up straight, to walk out of their building and out onto the street to look for Bucky, but he makes himself do it.

Just like Bucky’s always known where to find him, Steve’s body seems to know where it’sgoing without him even needing to think, and after not too long, he finds himself standing in front of the stoop of his old building, where he used to live with his Ma.

Bucky is perched halfway up the steps, elbows propped up on his knees, chin in his hands, watching Steve as he approaches. His bottom lip is caught between his teeth, but Steve can’t tell if it’s in nervousness or triumph, isn’t sure which emotion Bucky is struggling to contain.

Steve looks up at him with a worried frown, hands on his hips, and says, “What are you doing here?”

At that, Bucky finally releases his lip and his mouth quirks up into a pleased, lopsided smile. He gets up and walks down the steps to meet Steve, hip knocking into Steve’s once he gets down onto the sidewalk.

Bucky says, “Waiting for you,” voice fondly exasperated, like Steve’s late, like they planned this all along, and Steve realizes something about himself and about Bucky at the same time.

He’s always told himself that he ran from Bucky because he was tired of his weakness, tired of holding Bucky back and dragging him down, but walking home with Bucky that night, realizing why he left, Steve finally understands that he’s only ever hidden from Bucky because he wanted to be found.

***

Bucky calls them _soulmates_ once, when he’s nearly drunk enough to get away with it. He slides his arm around Steve’s shoulders as he says it, listing against Steve’s side at the back of a crowded dancehall, his mouth close enough to Steve’s ear that no one hears him, but would probably look at them funny anyway, just on account of how they’re standing, pressed together so tight you can’t see a half inch of space between them, holding each other up.

Steve smiles and shakes his head with a laugh, hooking his chin onto Bucky’s shoulder for a minute, and says, “Cursed, more like it.”

Bucky laughs too.

“I like my version better,” Bucky says, when he’s finished appreciating Steve’s joke, or maybe just his attempt at making one, and Steve doesn’t say anything, because he doesn't need to. He likes Bucky’s version better too.

They should move away from each other, maybe even do something drastic like go talk to other people, or at least step away a bit, give even the illusion of distance, but neither of them do.

***

When America finally joins the War, Steve tries to enlist immediately. There’s no doubt in his mind that it’s the right thing to do - the _only_ thing to do.

Bucky puts himself between Steve and the door, and flatly refuses to let Steve leave their apartment.

“Bucky, come on,” Steve protests, pushing at Bucky’s chest with both hands. “I have to do this - _we_ have do. If we join up together, then--”

“Then fucking what, Stevie? I know you’ve gotten a lot better than you used to be, and _you_ know it’s not about me thinking you ain’t tough, but war’s no place for you. Hell, it’s no place for anyone, but especially you. Steve, think about it. Even if we ended up in the same unit, together the whole time, it wouldn’t be enough. It’s not like we can hold hands through the whole fucking war, and even if we could.” He shakes his head. “Just because you don’t have an asthma fit every time you try to take a breath anymore doesn’t mean you can handle being in the shit for... shit, who knows how long. You’d get yourself killed.”

Steve digests this silently, seething the whole time, but it takes awhile for his righteous outrage to fade enough for him to read between the lines of what Bucky’s just said.

“You’re still going to join up,” Steve says, not a question, just a few short words breathed out like a sigh, inevitable, resigned.

Bucky shrugs, face twisted up in some strange mockery of his usual preening smile. “Not like I’m going to need to keep my sunny disposition on the battlefield, right?”

***

It turns out to be more complicated than that, slower. Bucky's got his hands full trying to keep Steve from enlisting, or at least prevent him from getting arrested for lying on his forms, and between that and working enough to keep them fed and with a roof over their heads, Bucky ends up getting drafted before he has a chance to enlist on his own. He drags his feet so much Steve has to wonder if Bucky put off enlisting on Steve’s account, or his own, but is just too proud to say so.

Even if that’s true, even if he’s afraid - to leave Steve, or to fight at all - Bucky’s got the stuff, will serve their country bravely and well. He survives Basic, so he’s going, but he’s not leaving Steve behind, not if Steve can help it. Not even when Bucky begs him to stay home, actually falls to his knees and pleads with Steve to stay safe in Brooklyn and give him something to come back to.

It’s the hardest thing in the world, saying no to Bucky then, pulling him to his feet and stubbornly refusing to stop trying to find a catcher that’ll take him, but Steve can’t stand the thought of letting Bucky go off fighting alone, not while he stays behind, tucked away snug and safe. So many men are laying down their lives, and soon enough Bucky might be one of them, and that’s enough for Steve to remain determined to keep looking for his chance to do the same, even after his fourth 4F.

***

In between fighting about Bucky going and Steve staying behind, there’s a lot of desperate fucking, clinging to each other and tangling their bodies together in silent, brutal benediction. Steve can barely remember what his life was like before Bucky, and even though his pride and his convictions are demanding that he follow Bucky into war because that’s what’s right, Steve knows in his heart that he’d follow Bucky anywhere, right or not.

***

On his last night in New York, Bucky tries to get Steve to promise not to do anything stupid until he gets back.

Steve makes a joke instead, drinks in the feel of Bucky when he moves in for a rough hug, and never actually says the words.

***

With Bucky gone, Steve feels hollow.

Empty.

He hurts. He hurts all the time.

It makes getting through the gruelling SSR training even harder, but he’s glad for the aches in his limbs and the pain in his spine reminding him what he’s lost. What he’s fighting to get back.

***

In the midst of all that - the training and the tests and the ache of missing Bucky - there’s Agent Carter-- Peggy.

Peggy’s something else. At first Steve almost thinks he’s falling in love with her, but even if his heart didn’t already belong to Bucky, he realizes quickly enough that that’s not what he’s feeling. It’s easy to love her, but it doesn’t have to be in that one way.

She becomes his hero, his friend. Not the only one he’s had since Bucky, but the best.

***

His need for Bucky doesn’t go away after the serum. It changes him in every conceivable way, except that one. He doesn’t need Bucky to breathe anymore, can stand tall and straight without his hand on the small of Steve’s back, but the pain of missing Bucky doesn’t go away. Being separated from Bucky still hurts, it’s just that now, it’s one of the few things that does.

***

Erskine dies, and the serum dies with him.

Steve does his time as the Senator’s dancing monkey. He smiles and recites his lines. He stage punches Hitler again and again. He waits, and he wants.

He aches, and he keeps going.

When Steve finally gets overseas, they tell him Bucky is dead, but he doesn’t believe it. He’s still alive, that means Bucky must be too.

***

The rescue is nearly a disaster at every goddamn turn, but they get out. He gets Bucky out. He has to leap across an impossibly wide pit of fire and rubble to do it, but when Steve makes it to the other side, Bucky is there to catch him.

***

In the frenzy of the rescue they work together as a single-minded unit, but Bucky keeps his distance once they get back to camp. He used what strength he had left to cling to Steve as they escaped the compound, breathing Steve’s name like gospel and refusing to leave him to die alone, but as soon as they’re back around other people, Bucky retreats into himself, his face carefully blank, stance coolly indifferent. He plays along when they first arrive, hamming it up for the crowd, cheering for Captain America, and the remoteness in his expression probably isn’t enough for anyone else to notice, but Steve does.

He notices the whole march back, tense until they crossed back into friendly territory, and he notices even more when they’re back with the rest of the 107th, back with Bucky’s unit and his commanding officers. Bucky looks at him, is always watching Steve with narrowed eyes when he thinks Steve isn’t paying enough attention to notice, but Steve is. He does.

Steve tries to talk to him right away, but there’s no opportunity. Bucky has been held for a worrying amount of time. He was strapped to an operating table when Steve found him. He has to be debriefed. He has to be questioned.

Eventually, Bucky is returned to him. They’re on the move, but not quite yet. They have this last night to themselves, even if it’s just them in a tent, surrounded by their fellow soldiers, watchful eyes and ears.

Steve glares at Bucky anyway, letting the hurt he feels show clearly. A foot away from him inside their tent, Bucky glares back.

“What’s going on, Bucky?” Steve asks, too tired to beat around the bush. He thought Bucky was _dead_. He’s missed him so much.

Bucky crosses his arms, every inch of him projecting sullen defiance. “You tell me, Stevie,” he says, and there’s a mean edge to the way he says Steve’s name.

Steve reminds himself some ill-temper is to be expected. They’ve been apart for a long time, and that’s always been how Bucky’s carried the weight of their separations. Also, he’s recently been held captive and quite possibly tortured and experimented on. Bucky’s entitled to a bad mood.

It would be nice if Bucky’d at least stop looking at him like he was a stranger, though. If he’d reach out and accept the comfort from Steve that would help them both.

Instead, Bucky keeps staring at Steve like if he glares hard enough he can turn Steve back into someone he remembers, someone he trusts, and it nearly breaks Steve’s heart.

Steve starts to say - well, he doesn’t know what - _I’m sorry?_ because maybe it’s the serum, maybe he doesn’t... _appeal_ to Bucky anymore, too masculine, too big - but before he gets a chance to put the words together in a way he can stand to say, Bucky’s beating him to the punch, saying, “You must be happy,” all snide, jerking his chin in Steve’s direction.

“I...” Steve falters, not knowing if he should agree or not. Bucky’s alive. They’re together. It’s the happiest he’s been since Bucky shipped out. But even in a space as small and cramped as their tent, Bucky is holding himself apart from Steve, carefully situated as far away from him as their circumstances allow.

“I figure you must be,” Bucky continues, ignoring Steve’s attempt at speech, affecting a breezy, casual tone. “Glad to be rid of your weakness, right?”

Steve looks down at himself. He’s strong now, stronger than he ever could have imagined. He’s healthy like he’s never been, not even in the days he spent almost all his time wrapped in Bucky’s embrace, in his love.

“Are you mad I took the serum?” Steve asks, taking a stab at something that might make sense. Bucky left him at home so he’d stay safe, and Steve put himself right in the line of fire as soon as his back was turned. He took the serum so he could fight, but also so he could follow Bucky, could find him again and watch his back for once. It felt worth it, until right now.

Bucky makes a terrible sound, something that’s meant to be a laugh, but gets choked and garbled by something a hell of of a lot closer to a sob. “Just give me a minute to - I’ll adjust, okay. I’ll get over it.”

“Me looking...” Steve trails off, not sure how to continue. “Like this?”

It’s enough to make Bucky roll his eyes, arms still folded across his chest defensively. He looks scared, Steve realizes, scared in a way Steve’s never seen before. Even at the Hydra base, Bucky hadn’t looked this vulnerable, this shaken.

“You always hated it, and I always loved it,” Bucky says, but it seems like he’s talking to himself, not really answering Steve’s question. He’s looking at the ground, teeth tugging at the edge of his bottom lip. “I figure now, strong like you are, all fucking...” He unclenches one hand to wave his fingers a little before wrapping them around his shoulder again. “... big. You must be over the moon. Fixed you right up.” He shrugs. “Don’t need me anymore, do ya?”

Steve stares at him. He couldn’t possibly think -- “I’m always going to need you, Buck.”

Bucky snorts. “Yeah, looks like it.”

Steve feels like he’s losing his mind - which, the timing is off, really, considering what he’s been through, but maybe it’s just delayed. Maybe going crazy takes time. “Bucky, I--” He can’t say the words he wants to say. Not here. Even if they’ve already given themselves away to anyone who might be listening, those words aren’t for this place, this sodden ground. They’ve never said them, and Steve’s always assumed that was because they didn’t need to.

Maybe he was wrong.

Bucky’s gone silent, glaring again, so Steve takes a deep breath and tries to rally. “Even if we weren’t - if I didn’t - which I _do_ , the serum didn’t change everything - I’d still. I’ll always need you. You’re my - always.”

Bucky keeps staring. Keeps silent. Steve sits across from him and waits, not blinking, not backing down. Finally, Bucky lets out a breath, and his posture relaxes. He sticks his leg out and kicks Steve with his boot, eyes darting to the side as a shaky smirk starts to form on his lips.

A few seconds later, Bucky looks at him from under his eyelashes, deliberate and sly, and maybe on someone less beautiful, less bold than Bucky, the pose would look ridiculous, but all Steve feels is want pounding in his veins.

“Prove it,” Bucky says, eyes bright with a challenge he clearly doesn’t expect Steve to accept. Not here.

The bearhug he tackles Bucky into brings their tent down with them, but Steve doesn’t care. It’s nothing close to what he wants, what he _needs_ , but Steve’s been settling for a lot less for months, so he’s willing to take what he can get. Bucky catches him, holds him back as tight as he ever has, even though his arms barely go around Steve now. Even though he’s been through hell.

They can’t do more than this, not here, but they can do this much. They can hold on, and so that’s what they do.

***

Then, for awhile, everything is about the mission. He and Bucky are together, but that too is about the mission. Taking down every Hydra base on the map, destroying the people who tried to take Bucky from Steve and who threaten the world they’re both hoping to go on inhabiting together.

The other Commandos watch their backs while Steve and Bucky watch each other’s. They’re not sloppy in their selfishness, have enough strength and skill between the two of them to make up the difference even if they were, and there are no hard feelings among their group. They all become brothers during those bitter months in Europe, fighting as one and living each day side by side.

Bucky and Steve stick closer together than any of the others do, but whatever secrets their brothers in arms learn about them during their time fighting together are kept close as well. For a time, it feels like they’re invincible, like victory is already theirs, if they can only reach out and claim it.

***

Bucky falls.

 

 

 

  
Steve doesn’t catch him.

***

The serum keeps Steve alive, but vengeance - dressed up as duty - keeps him going.

When he’s destroyed every piece of Hydra he can get his hands on, when he’s done his duty, Steve lets himself fall.

***

Waking up is hard. It takes Steve a long time to stop wishing he hadn’t.

***

He saves the world with an unlikely team of misfits, or that’s how the story goes. Steve keeps his head down, focuses on the mission. He finds every excuse he can to keep people from touching him, and after awhile, the few people who actually know him stop trying.

He feels cold all the time, hollow like when he was back in Jersey and Bucky was half a world away already in the fight, but worse. So much worse.

It’s supposed to get easier, he’s told, but it keeps getting harder. He doesn’t tell anyone about Bucky, doesn’t try to offer any explanation at all for why he is the way he is. He goes to Peggy when he needs a talking-to, and if she remembers him, she’ll tell him to stop being so dramatic, tell him that sometimes moving on means starting over, letting go.

He doesn’t really listen, but he makes himself hear the advice every so often anyway, even if he knows he’ll never take it.

***

Time goes on. Steve goes on missions. He goes on the internet. He runs. He works on his list.

It doesn’t get better, exactly, but pretending gets easier, and day by day, little cracks in the armor he’s built around himself start to form.

Natasha bashes through a couple of them by pretending she doesn’t notice they’re there, using aloofness and competency to wedge her way into something closer to friendship than he’s had since the War. In the space she pries open inside him, Steve finds room for other people too, finds the courage and the desire for another friend, and by some miracle, that friend turns out to be Sam, and he proves his mettle in the friendship department within days of Steve first mustering the guts to talk to him after their run.

Steve’s always been lucky like that, he reflects. He’s never had too many friends, but they’ve always been good ones.

***

In some backwards way, finding out that Hydra isn’t so much _back_ as it was never really gone in the first place is the best thing that’s happened to Steve since he woke up. Saving the world was good, making friends is also good, but there’s a difference between getting by and actually living.

Vengeance might not be the healthiest reason to get out of bed in the morning, but at least he knows whose side he’s on again, has a good enough reason to keep fighting until he sees his mission through.

***

The first time the Winter Soldier is sent to kill him, he ends up hugging Steve in the middle of a shot-up city block instead.

Something strange starts to tug at the back of Steve’s mind as soon as the attack on the bridge begins, as soon as the Soldier appears, but he ignores it at first, focusing on protecting Natasha and Sam. It’s the same feeling he remembers from their brief encounter on the roof after the Winter Soldier shot Fury, but it isn’t until they’re fighting at close quarters that Steve realizes what’s happening, even if he can’t quite believe it. With every blow his blood starts pumping harder, and the first time skin hits skin, the Soldier’s fist connecting with Steve’s jaw, a deep, aching knot inside him loosens and Steve’s heart sings.

Bucky.

 _Bucky_.

“Bucky!” Steve doesn’t ask, he shouts it.

He throws down his shield, stops fighting, and stands still, hands held high in the air.

Masked and terrifying though he may be, Steve’s certain the man standing in front of him is Bucky, his friend. He’s sure down to his very core, sure enough to reach out again, not with violence this time but with tenderness, and impossibly, the Winter Soldier lets this happen, lets Steve touch his forehead, knuckles brushing against the only skin the mask doesn’t cover, and then, even more impossibly, he hauls Steve into his arms.

Steve was sure before, but he’s surer now, held painfully tight and breathing Bucky in. Even sheathed in metal and leather, he smells exactly the same.

It doesn’t last, but Steve holds on as long as he can, doesn’t fight back when the embrace turns into an attack. The Soldier - Bucky, it’s _Bucky_ \- seems confused by his lack of resistance, but only momentarily, and then he starts to use that against Steve. If it wasn’t for Natasha, and a grenade launcher, Bucky probably would have killed him. Steve certainly hadn’t been planning to stop him.

Bucky’s gone when the smoke clears, and even as they’re being handcuffed and shoved into a van, Steve’s only thought is of finding him again. That, and the selfish wish that they’d fought long enough for him to rip the Winter Soldier’s mask off so he could have seen Bucky’s face. He doesn’t need that for proof - Bucky’s touch was more than enough - but still. It would have been nice, after all this time. It would have been something to hold onto until he finds Bucky again, until he can start fixing whatever has been done to him, doling out comfort and vengeance as needed until both of them are whole again. 

As it is, all he’s seen were Bucky’s eyes, empty and a little crazed, but that’ll have to do for now, at least until Steve can figure this out, until he can find Bucky, and hold onto him for good.

***

“That a new tactic I don’t know about? Hug your enemies into submission?” Natasha says once they’ve escaped Hydra’s clutches and are sitting alone together in a private corner of Fury’s secret bunker.

“That was Bucky,” Steve says, not knowing where else to start, how else to explain. “The Winter Soldier. He’s Bucky.”

Natasha doesn’t react, no wide eyes, no flinch or incredulous shake of the head. She just looks at him, steady as ever, and says, “James Buchanan Barnes? Your friend from the War.”

“My friend from always,” Steve says with a determined frown. Bucky would have called it a pout.

Natasha would probably agree. She doesn’t call him on it, though, just inclines her head a fraction to the left, and says, “You’re sure?”

Steve nods, half drunk on clarity like he hasn’t felt since before he woke up, since before he lost Bucky, and says, “I’d know him anywhere, he’s Bucky.”

Natasha doesn’t nod or smile, but she doesn’t contradict him either, doesn’t try to talk him down, and that’s more than good enough for Steve.

***

All Steve cares about is finding Bucky, but there’s still work to be done, still people to save.

It’s a mess, there’s really no two ways about it. Steve gets that, and he’s always done his best to roll with the punches, but the concept that the whole world is a mess in large part because Bucky was used as a weapon to make it that way is a tough one to adjust to. Especially coupled with the guilt Steve feels for letting it happen, for not catching Bucky, not looking for him after he fell, knowing now that he was found instead by the same people who took him from Steve in the first place. It’s tough, but it doesn’t matter. Finding Bucky matters. Stopping Pierce matters. Destroying Hydra once and for all matters, even if it means taking SHIELD down too.

On the helicarrier, Bucky tries to kill him a couple more times before he actually gets close enough to touch Steve again, but that also doesn’t matter. There’s something half-hearted about the way Bucky fights him, angry but not focused like he was when he shot Fury or even on the bridge, and Steve uses that, talking to Bucky as much as he can between blows, watching as Bucky’s fury mounts alongside his confusion, the brief flashes of recognition in his eyes when Steve repeats his name over and over, when Steve claims Bucky as his friend. Bucky shoots him in the shoulder, just once, before Steve completes his mission, but that doesn’t matter either. What matters is that Steve gets both his hands on Bucky eventually, even if it isn’t until they’re falling out of an exploding Insight helicarrier together, locked tight in each other’s arms.

***

Steve passes out when they hit the water, but that also doesn’t matter. What matters is that Bucky drags him out of the Potomac, and that Steve wakes up in time to call his name when he sees Bucky’s retreating form headed down the riverbank.

What matters is that when Steve says, “Stay, please,” Bucky does.

***

Bucky comes back and crouches down beside him on the shore, and for a long time they just sit there. Steve watches the wreck of the helicarrier sinking further into the river, and Bucky watches him. Every once in awhile Steve turns to Bucky, always making sure there’s something on his face approaching a smile. Bucky seems more concerned with Steve’s bullet wound.

It’s not a bad hit - bullet went straight through, just a flesh wound - nothing he can’t bounce back from. Bucky could have easily done him a lot more damage, but he didn’t, and with him sitting so close to Steve now, he barely feels the pain of it at all. He almost wishes that wasn’t the case, if only to have the distraction of the hurt, something to keep him focused on the task at hand. All this time, looking for Bucky, fighting for him, Steve hasn’t let himself really think about the fact that Bucky is alive, that Bucky is back - hasn’t let himself feel it.

There’s been no time to process, no time to break down, but right about now, Steve could really go for a nice long cry. He’s not sure how Bucky would respond to him starting to sob right here on the riverbank, though, so Steve pushes the feelings down as far as they’ll go, and tries again to smile for Bucky.

Bucky smiles back, but it’s empty, no emotion behind it, only a vague hint of curiosity, and Steve realizes Bucky’s just mimicking him. The smile slides off Steve’s face and Bucky mirrors him again. Steve resists the urge to put his head in his hands. He needs to get it together.

While he’s still trying to do that, Bucky reaches out, slow and wary, but it still feels sudden and shocking when his hands wrap around Steve’s right wrist, first his flesh hand, and then his metal one. Steve takes a deep breath, and sways a little under the touch. He wonders if Bucky can feel him through the metal hand - he thinks probably not, but he hopes so.

More silence as they sit, closer now and touching more and more. Not just Bucky’s hands on him, but his thighs pressed into Steve’s, kneeling at Steve’s side, watching over him and holding on. Steve focuses on breathing. The wound in his shoulder is already starting to heal.

Across the water, the wreck keeps sinking. Steve is distantly surprised no one has come looking for them yet.

Bucky’s hands tighten a little around his wrist, but it doesn’t hurt. He says, “Steve,” and Steve feels his legs give out, which is why it’s a good thing he’s already on the ground.

“That’s me,” he says, trying not to sound too unhinged with excitement, not wanting to spook Bucky anymore than he probably already is.

Bucky stays still, stays calm, and just says, “You’re Steve,” again, a little more certain this time.

Steve nods. “That’s right, Buck.”

Bucky searches his face for an uncomfortable amount of time before he says, “You’re Steve, and I’m Bucky.”

Steve nods again. “Yes.”

Bucky’s face scrunches just a little, a brief flash of the grumpy displeasure Steve once knew so well.

“I don’t know what that means,” Bucky admits, and he doesn’t flinch, exactly, but his pupils widen like he’s expecting a blow.

Steve keeps eye contact with him as he slowly moves his free hand to cover Bucky’s. “Well, they’re our names, and we’re friends--”

“I don’t remember,” Bucky says, and again, he looks braced for punishment. Not even scared, just ready.

Steve rubs his thumb across Bucky’s knuckles in what he hopes is a soothing and nonthreatening way. He reminds himself that this is to be expected. It’s too soon to go looking for any more miracles. Having Bucky back is more than enough for now.

Steve’s voice doesn’t waver when he says, “That’s okay. That’s just fine, Bucky. You don’t - there’s no rush. Even if you never remember, that’s okay, too. You can stay with me no matter what, for as long as you want.”

Bucky snorts, and that too, for the second it lasts, is familiar enough to take Steve’s breath away. The accompanying expression is gone a fraction of a second later, blank confusion taking its place on Bucky’s face yet again.

Still, Bucky looks down at their hands, and says, “As long as I want?”

Steve starts to say, “Yes, I promise,” but Bucky is suddenly on his feet, eyes looking everywhere at once.

“We have to go,” he says, and Steve pays attention to something other than Bucky for a half second and realizes he’s right.

Someone’s coming. Possibly a lot of someones.

Steve thinks fast - he’s injured, but not badly, Bucky isn’t dangerous to him, but that might not extend any further. Steve hasn’t been back to his own apartment since Bucky shot it up, and he wouldn’t want to take Bucky there even if he had gotten a chance to clean things up. SHIELD isn’t an option anymore, and New York is too far. Steve hates to do this again, to put him at risk, but there’s nothing else for it. They’ll just have to go to Sam’s house. They might even find it empty, but Steve doesn’t let his mind go there.

All he says to Bucky is, “I know a place,” and Bucky nods impatiently, clearly waiting for Steve to lead the way.

He seems small, somehow, even as he stalks efficiently a half pace behind Steve, guarding his six, and whenever he’s not looking for threats, Bucky’s eyes fall onto Steve’s wrist, the one he spent so long holding onto on the riverbank.

They’re making good time, not finding anyone or being found, and Steve says, “You can touch me, if you want,” because he figures they could both use it.

Bucky glares at him. Steve finally notices he’s got one of his knives out, gripped in his metal hand. Steve works up another smile, and it’s easier than the others. He knows he should be worried - for Bucky, if not himself - but he just feels tired, and fond. Whatever Bucky’s going to be like now, whoever he is, Steve’s missed him.

He tries again. “You can always--” He holds out his hand to Bucky. “You can always touch me. Only if you want,” he adds, hopefully with enough emphasis for Bucky to believe him.

Bucky adjusts his shoulders a bit, but doesn’t take Steve up on his offer. Instead, he mutters, “Feels good.”

It takes Steve a minute to realize they’re still talking about the same thing, and then he nods. “Yeah, I know.”

Bucky stops - actually stops in the middle of their high-stakes getaway - and looks at him.

Steve smiles. It keeps getting easier. “For me too, I mean. Touching you has always felt better than anything else.”

Bucky stays perfectly still as he considers this. His eyes are wide and more than a little wild, but he eventually seems to decide Steve isn’t lying, or at least that he doesn’t care if he is, because Bucky reaches out and grabs his hand, tugging until Steve gets with the program and they both start moving again.

They keep walking, and somehow, even with the amount of people that must be out looking for them, the cameras, they work their way through the city undetected. The whole time, Bucky never lets go of his hand.

***

When Sam opens his door, the first thing Steve says is, “I’m sorry.”

Sam looks considerably more shocked than he did when Steve showed up on his doorstep uninvited the first time, but he lets Steve in again just as fast, even with Bucky under his arm, half carrying Steve by this point. Bucky takes Steve’s hand back as soon as they’re through the door and Sam has locked it behind them.

“This going to be a thing with you?” Sam asks, nodding at Bucky. “Bringing home stray ex-Soviet assassins for showers and scrambled eggs?”

“Do you have eggs?” Steve asks, interested. It’s been awhile since that big breakfast he had this morning.

At his side, Bucky shifts a little closer to Steve, moving slightly in front of him at the same time. Sam smiles at him, and Bucky drops Steve’s hand, assuming a defensive stance.

Sam rolls his eyes.

Right. Introductions. Maybe that’ll help.

Steve puts his hand on Bucky’s back, still leaning on him, and says, “Bucky, this is Sam. He’s a friend.” He nods back and forth at them. “Sam, Bucky. Bucky, Sam.”

“Nice to meet you, man,” Sam says, and he even manages to sound like he means it.

Bucky looks at Steve, and Steve nods. Bucky grunts in Sam’s general direction. It’ll have to do.

Sam leads them further inside, and Steve half collapses onto the nearest couch in Sam’s living room. He’s actually surprised he doesn’t break it on impact.

Bucky stays standing, clearly conflicted about something, and after what looks like a vicious internal battle, he leaves Steve alone with Sam to start searching the house, room by room.

“Sorry,” Steve says again, when he’s reasonably sure Bucky’s out of earshot.

Sam shrugs and sits down across from him on a plaid arm chair. “Beats you being dead.”

Steve’s eyes widen with surprise, quickly replaced by guilt. “People think I’m dead?” He leaves out _Again?_

“It’s been suggested,” Sam says. “Everything’s a mess out there, and you went down in the middle of the chaos, well, at the tail end of it, anyway, and no one saw you come back up. Not until now, at least.”

It’s only been a few hours, but it feels like a lifetime. Steve shakes his head.

“I’m not dead.”

Sam says, “I can see that, man,” with a little scoff, but he’s not much of an actor. Steve can read the relief on his face just fine.

Relief doesn’t last long, not for them, and Sam’s focus turns quickly to the bullet wound in Steve’s right shoulder.

“Can I take a look at that?” he asks.

Steve nods, and Sam’s already peeling the bloody costume away from Steve’s skin as he says, “It was a clean shot, went straight through. I’m okay.”

Sam seems determined to decide that for himself, but after leaving and coming back with washcloths and bandages, cleaning all the blood away, he makes a low, impressed sound.

“I knew you healed fast, but damn. This is almost sealed already, no infection, nothing.”

Steve’s smile is mostly a grimace, but not from pain. He’s not used to talking about this, not just out of practice, but completely out of his depth. He tries for Sam anyway. “It’s Bucky. Being near him, keeping close. It helps.”

Sam looks like he has a _lot_ of follow up questions about that, but before he gets a chance, there’s a loud noise from upstairs, like the slam of a door. It’s all quiet for a beat, two, and then from above they hear another quieter sounding crash, a pause, and moments later, Bucky is back hovering in the doorway of the living room, standing guard.

Steve waves at him and smiles. Bucky tilts his head and after a few seconds, waves back, watching his own hand make the motion with something like interest.

Steve stretches his arm out, an invitation, and Bucky doesn’t hesitate in taking it. He moves scarily fast, but the speed he was given for violence is used to claim comfort this time, and Bucky practically crawls into Steve’s lap, plastering himself against Steve’s side. Steve wraps his arm securely around Bucky’s shoulders.

Sam watches them, but doesn’t say anything. Steve takes a breath, and forces a cheerful grin, turning to Sam and saying, “So, any good houses for sale in the neighborhood?”

***

That night, Bucky follows Steve into Sam’s spare bedroom and stands in the middle of the room, clearly waiting for Steve to tell him what to do. To order him, probably.

Steve just sits down on the bed, heavy and exhausted from this day - from this lifetime, maybe - and tries to muster another smile for Bucky. Bucky stays where is he, watching Steve, and doesn’t smile back.

“You can sit, if you want,” Steve says, patting the spot on the bed beside him.

Bucky moves automatically and with speed. He sits as close as he can get without actually being in Steve’s lap. Apparently that’s going to be a thing, the almost lap sitting. Steve wonders if he could pick Bucky up and settle him across Steve’s thighs like he seems to want, but that feels like too much for right now. Instead, he tries again to smile at Bucky, a little more successfully this time.

Bucky glares, and grabs his arm, palm flat against Steve’s pulse, fingers wrapped around his wrist. “Why does this feel good?” he demands, looking furious, lost.

“Touching?” Steve clarifies, thinking now isn’t exactly the time to guess or assume.

Bucky nods, staring down at their linked hands like his body is betraying him. “I don’t like it when people touch me.”

Steve winces, mind shying away from the myriad of reasons Bucky might have been given over the years to cement the certainty in his voice when he says it. He can’t quite bear to think about how long it must have been since someone touched Bucky with kindness before today, offering comfort instead of punishment and pain.

Struggling to keep his guilt and fury in check, Steve shrugs a little and says, “Me neither,” hoping the admission will make Bucky feel a little more like they’re on even ground.

“But you like this,” Bucky checks, voice hard, eyes averted.

“Yes,” Steve promises, a solid, unbreakable truth.

“Why?”

Steve holds still under Bucky’s touch, wishing he had a better answer for him. He clears his throat, and Bucky waits attentively, eyes on Steve.

“We’ve never really known,” Steve begins simply, inadequately. “It’s just always been like this - needing each other, hurting when we’re apart. I was really small growing up, sickly. I - meeting you didn’t make me bigger, I needed the serum for that, but you made me stronger, helped me get well. When you touched me, I could always breathe.”

Bucky seems to accept this, lips taught and brow slightly furrowed as he takes in the information and processes it. He nods. “You had a bad chest, a weak spine.” As soon as he says the words, Bucky looks surprised by them.

Steve tries not to throw his hands up in celebration of even this brief, flickering moment of awareness. He nods instead, mirroring Bucky. “That’s right. I did, and nothing helped except being near you.”

“What about me?” Bucky asks, eager and then clearly embarrassed about it.

Steve inches them a little further back on the bed, moving until they can rest against the wall behind them. When he can’t stall anymore he says, “You were different. You were always strong, healthy, but you were also short tempered, restless. You got headaches, had a hard time settling, focusing on just one thing instead of chasing after a dozen new ones at once. I helped you be calm.”

Bucky seems less convinced by this portion of Steve’s explanation. He chews on the inside of his bottom lip, and looks so much like his old self Steve has to close his eye for a moment.

When he opens them, Bucky asks again, “Why?” more plaintive this time, more openly broken.

Steve wants to wrap Bucky up in his arms and never let go, but somehow manages to restrain himself. “I don’t know, like I said. We’ve just always been this way, since we were kids.”

“I remember,” Bucky says, voice blank in a far off kind of way. Steve holds his breath, and Bucky keeps going, words coming out slow as molasses. “Mrs. Murphy’s corner store,” he screws up his face. “I bought you penny candy from there whenever I could.” Steve nods, still afraid to breathe, to break the spell. “You liked the peppermint ones best.”

“That’s right, Buck,” Steve says hoarsely, when Bucky looks to him for confirmation.

Bucky’s face grows darker. “You got beat up behind there once. It was ugly.” He looks at Steve accusingly. “You didn’t wait for me.”

Steve remembers that time. It’d been a bad one. He’s not sorry for it, though. “They were torturing a litter of kittens in the alley behind the store, I couldn’t just--”

“Stupid,” Bucky says, harsh and decisive, and Steve’s heart breaks all over again. Not exactly original, but that’s sort of the point. Bucky’d done nothing but spit that word at Steve for hours after dragging him up off the pavement and cleaning him up that day.

“You’ve always been the brains, Buck,” Steve says, when he thinks he can do so without crying. “Don’t let anybody tell you different.”

This, too, leaves Bucky looking unconvinced, but mostly, he just looks tired, and when Steve lies down on the bed and holds his arms open, Bucky half collapses onto him, head resting over Steve’s heart.

“We used to do this,” Bucky says, more hopeful than certain, and Steve lets his hand fall into Bucky’s long, tangled hair, carding through it carefully, trying not to pull on the knots.

“Yeah, we did,” Steve says, soft like a promise, and like that, lying together, they both sleep.

***

Bucky sits on the couch with him the next morning, tucked between the V of Steve’s spread thighs, his back cradled against Steve’s chest. Steve’s arms are looped loosely around Bucky’s waist, and Bucky’s tracing his fingertips along the lines of Steve’s forearm, watching himself do it in a kind of distant fascination.

“I don’t know why I believe you,” Bucky says, after they’ve sat there like that for a long time, once the sun is up and all Steve’s coffee is gone.

He’s got both hands empty, and he rubs slow circles into Bucky’s stomach, letting his body take over a little, offering what comfort and reassurance he can.

“But you do? Believe me?” Steve can’t do anything about the shaky hope in his voice, the bone deep relief.

Bucky nods, and shifts around, turning so his face is pressed into Steve’s shoulder. Steve adjusts his arms around Bucky, and sitting in silence, they both hold on.

***

Over the next couple of days, he and Bucky take a lot of naps while Sam runs interference and works on finding them a place to live. Boxes of Steve’s clothing and belongings show up mysteriously on Sam’s doorstep, and what Steve doesn’t need to clothe himself or share with Bucky stays boxed up in Sam’s garage. Between hours spent cuddling Bucky on the couch or their bed - comfort he finds he doesn’t mind having when he can share it with Bucky - Steve gets snatches of Sam’s telephone conversations with the outside world, enough to know that Pierce is dead, SHIELD in ruins along with half of DC. Fury is still alive, busy hunting down the remnants of Hydra still scattered and hidden across Europe, and Natasha is gone, but no one is sure where. The only message she has for Steve is that she’s safe, and that she fully expects him to be in one piece when she eventually comes back.

When they’re not sleeping, Bucky follows Steve wherever he goes. They don’t leave Sam’s property, but they do go out to sit in the backyard a few times. Bucky doesn’t seem interested in food, but he eats when Steve eats. He’s taken to wearing very little clothing, lots of exposed skin for Steve to brush up against, for Steve to touch. He wants to put his mouth over all the scars that show whenever Bucky is stripped nearly bare, fooling himself into thinking he could take the hurt away and replace it with pleasure, but for now Steve settles for what solace his hands can offer, carefully keeping his touches chaste. When he seems to think he can get away with it, Bucky wears nothing but boxers, and sometimes Steve swears he can see hope in Bucky’s expression, maybe even desire.

Steve isn’t ready to analyze that too closely, just hopes that it means Bucky’s getting more comfortable, is glad to see him take off any weight he can, even if he still carries knives concealed on his person wherever they are. Steve knows he should probably try to take them away, should sit Bucky down and have all kinds of serious conversations with him about boundaries and their past and how they can make sense of their future, but he stays silent, taking refuge in the same heady comfort that Bucky draws from him.

It’s almost like being high, not that Steve has much practical experience with that, but he can guess. He’s gotten so used to missing Bucky, to hurting because of it, that it feels like he’s taken the serum all over again, but better, just having Bucky near him again. Like he can do anything, even keep Bucky safe, slowly but surely undoing the damage that’s been done to him, done by him. They have a lot of details to work out, of course, there will be stumbling blocks, but having Bucky back with him reminds Steve what it’s like to really believe in something again, to believe in _himself_ , and he trusts that together, they’ll make it through.

For now, they’re both alive, and that’s enough.

As the days pass, Bucky goes from being suspicious of Sam to ignoring him completely, always focused on Steve and anything that might threaten him in any way (microwaves and garbage trucks driving past are definitely on his watchlist). Mostly though, it’s all right. Bucky doesn’t say much, doesn’t seem to be remembering much more, at least that he shares with Steve, but he stays close. He watches Steve. As times goes on, he even starts initiating contact instead of waiting for Steve’s permission or invitation, gets progressively greedier for Steve’s touch and his attention.

It makes Steve happier than he can remember being since he first woke up in the 21st century, and he tries not to take it personally when Bucky sometimes shuts down, going nearly catatonic or circling Steve skittishly before bolting from the room, focuses on the good stuff instead. Bucky’s here. Bucky’s alive. Bucky might not remember him, not entirely, but he trusts Steve anyway. Enough to let him get close, enough to keep him there, at least most of the time.

Even though Bucky settles into a hostile indifference with respect to Sam, Steve wants them to have their own place, space to be together and figure themselves out. Steve’s under no illusions that he can fix Bucky all on his own, but they have to start there. They both have a lot of healing to do.

Sam ends up doing most of the house-hunting for them, given that Bucky doesn’t seem interested in leaving Sam’s backyard and Steve has no plans to go anywhere Bucky doesn’t want to follow. Sam’s good about it, patient like he always is, and he doesn’t complain about the fact that he’s become some mix of Steve’s personal assistant and PR guy, fending off questions from all corners, government and media alike. Instead, he just listens to Steve’s specifications, nods along with the few tersely worded requirements Bucky puts out there, mostly gruff questions about the amount of exits and instructions regarding the installation of reinforced steel doors and plexiglass windows. Sam writes all of it down and in the end, all Steve has to do is sign some paperwork and then he and Bucky have a new place to live.

It occurs to Steve belatedly that he isn’t sure who actually _paid_ for the house until Sam shrugs and says, “Stark.”

Steve nods. That makes sense. “Did he--” Steve’s not particularly interested in owing Stark, but then, there have to be worse things.

Sam just says, “I think if anything, he was just sad you didn’t give him more time. Seems like he would have preferred to build you a place instead.”

That makes sense, too, and so Steve smiles. “We’ll see how it goes. Maybe if the winters get bad, we’ll commission a summer home.”

He bets Stark would like that. Hell, maybe he and Bucky would too.

***

Convincing Bucky to move on to their own place is surprisingly easy. Surprising to Steve, anyway.

Sam just fixes him with a look when Steve mentions how pleased he is about how calmly Bucky got up and followed him out of Sam’s house and down three blocks into their new one.

“Yeah, him doing whatever you want? Shocking.”

There’s no judgement in Sam’s tone, not really, but Steve still feels the need to defend himself, saying, “I’m not - he can do whatever he wants. I try to show him that, tell him--”

“Hey, hey, Cap, stand down. I get it.” Sam pauses, shakes his head, and then says, “Well, maybe I don’t get it, but whatever you’re doing, it seems like it’s working. He hasn’t tried to murder any of us in days.”

Bucky’s on the floor at their feet, sleeping on the new rug that Sam said came with the rest of the furnishings Stark had sent over, and he doesn’t stir. Steve hooks his ankle around Bucky’s bent wrists and watches him snuggle up against it, still asleep.

He sighs. “I don’t know what I’m doing,” he admits.

Beside him on the firm and surprisingly tasteful leather couch Stark chose for them, Sam pats Steve’s knee and says, “Just keep trying.”

Steve nods to himself, and goes back to watching over Bucky as he sleeps. Keep trying. Keep working the problem. He can do that.

***

Their first night alone in their new house, Steve convinces Bucky to take a shower.

“I’ll be right outside the whole time,” Steve assures him, when Bucky gets as far as standing naked in the bathroom before freezing there, eyes flicking uncertainly between Steve and the open shower stall.

“Can I bring a knife?” Bucky asks, swallowing hard after the question escapes his lips.

Steve bites back a sigh. He really does know he shouldn’t be supplying Bucky with weapons, he’s just also past the point of caring. Long past.

Stark was thorough in his provisions, the bathroom coming fully stocked along with the rest of the house, and Steve digs around in the medicine cabinet, finding a pair of scissors and offering them to Bucky. “Good enough?” he asks.

Bucky takes the scissors with a grudging nod. “Is there another pair out here for you?” he asks, still staying stubbornly where he is.

Steve pats himself down, drawing attention to the line of the Swiss Army knife in the front pocket of his jeans. If need be, the corkscrew alone could do some serious damage. “I’m good. I’ve got watch, go shower.”

He tries not to actually order Bucky around, he really does, but Bucky seems to prefer direct instructions to suggestions attached to a variety of options, and sure enough, Bucky moves quickly to obey now that Steve’s put things in those terms.

He doesn’t test the water before stepping under the spray, but Bucky does pull the door closed and Steve can hear him picking up the bar of soap and bottle of shampoo in turn, washing himself thoroughly.

Bucky’s in there a long time, and when he comes out of the shower, he just stands on the bathmat, naked and dripping wet. Steve has never been more grateful for the skills of repression he learned in Catholic school.

When Bucky makes no move to do it himself, Steve grabs a towel from the wrack and dries Bucky off. His hair is especially difficult to wrangle, and after asking Bucky’s permission, Steve finds an elastic to tie the hair back so it can dry without clinging to Bucky’s neck, a wet curtain covering his face.

The bun is sloppy, coming undone in places, but it gets most of the hair away from Bucky’s face, and even with the stubble and haunted look, it’s undeniably Bucky staring back at him, still so beautiful, so strong.

Steve stands in front of him in the bathroom, Bucky perched on the closed toilet seat, Steve’s hands on his shoulders. He tries, but can’t stop himself from saying, “Jesus, Bucky. I missed you.”

He doesn’t want to put that pressure on Bucky, that guilt, but Bucky just blinks, cocking his head to the side, and then says, “I think I missed you, too.” His face twists sourly after that, confusion about how that’s possible or maybe fear about what the admission will cost him.

Steve ducks in close to a press a kiss to his forehead before he can second guess himself or lose his nerve. Bucky makes a soft sound, pleased or surprised, Steve can’t tell, but when he pulls back to look at Bucky, for a split second, Steve can almost swear Bucky’s smiling.

***

Bucky gets more demanding the longer they’re on their own.

Steve tries not to let his hopes get up too high every time Bucky touches him first, every time he looks at Steve with something like recognition, like love, but it doesn’t really work.

Bucky’s back, Bucky’s alive. Bucky’s here with him and even though he might not understand why, he seems willing to take the comfort being near Steve provides.

Maybe it’s all they’ll ever have, maybe it’s as much of Bucky as he’ll ever get back, but Steve will keep trying for more. He’ll keep trying for Bucky’s sake, because he deserves to become a full person again, even though Steve knows he could be happy with just this, with Bucky’s hand in his as they go about their days, his arms wrapped around Steve every night as they go to sleep.

***

Bucky has nightmares, but that’s okay. So does Steve.

They get through them together.

***

Some days Bucky doesn’t talk at all. Other times, he’ll wake up chatty and smiling, and he’ll sound exactly like his old self, sometimes for a few minutes, sometimes hours. He’ll slip in and out of it, talking to Steve like they’re back in the forties, sitting around in their old flop of an apartment in Brooklyn instead of a recently built house in DC, only to stop in mid sentence and tense up like he’s never seen Steve before in his life.

That can be pretty rough, but it’s not the worst of it. The worst is when Bucky slips back into being the Winter Soldier again, remembering past kills and trying to give Steve mission reports. He’ll send hours speaking in Russian, pacing around the perimeter of their house until Steve can get him to stand still long enough for his touch to bring Bucky back to him, to this time, this place.

Good or bad, Bucky is usually scared after surfacing from those memories, the knowledge in his eyes slipping away, but he never tries to hurt Steve, never gets angry with him. In those moments, he just looks at Steve, lost and pleading, and always sighs, grateful and shaky, when Steve holds out his arms.

***

Bucky takes interest in his list, and they start working on it together.

In the mornings, they go on runs, and Bucky always keeps up doggedly, even though it clearly taxes him to match Steve’s strides. Running at Steve’s pace seems to take Bucky less effort than leaving the house in the first place does, and Steve doesn’t do much else to test the differences in their abilities, but he files the information away.

In the afternoons, they work on the list, or nap, depending on the kind of night they’ve both had. Bucky’s nightmares are worse than Steve’s, but he falls asleep after them faster than Steve does. Most of the time, all he needs is for Steve to make eye contact, to touch him and say Bucky’s name, and then he’ll relax and pass right back out again.

On the days when they’ve both managed to get a decent sleep, the list is always there to distract them. Bucky likes Marvin Gaye well enough, but seems downright awed by Star Wars. He shares Steve’s suspicions about the moon landing, but disagrees with him about the Beatles best song - Steve likes Hey Jude, Bucky prefers Yellow Submarine. Thai food gets crossed off with two check marks beside it and they split the difference on Sean Connery.

Even in the interests of their research, Bucky still only eats when Steve does, but he almost always requests something sweet at the end of the meal. Steve notices he’ll eat more if Steve feeds him, if he’s touching Bucky the whole time. His favorites are added to the list - fuzzy peaches and Wunderbars. Steve is happy to see him taking in the calories. Bucky gets a little less gaunt, expression less haunted, day by day. He lets Steve shave him, and dry him off after every shower, and Steve gets better at managing Bucky’s hair. There are setbacks, bad ones, but Bucky always calms when Steve touches him.

He gets better and better at touching Steve first, develops preferences there as well. He takes to arranging both of them when they’re sitting down in the living room or the kitchen, positioning Steve first and then settling at his feet or side, depending on his mood, watching the exits and listening carefully, even as he curls into Steve, occasionally even crawling all the way onto Steve’s lap and mouthing at his skin a little when it’s been an especially bad day.

That’s as far as they ever go - there’s nothing sexual about their contact, and Steve tries very hard to make sure Bucky knows there doesn’t have to be, telling him over and over that he doesn’t have to do anything he doesn’t want to. Bucky nods along whenever Steve starts in on the whole free will/not a prisoner song and dance, but as time passes, he almost seems amused by Steve’s efforts, not just confused.

One particular evening when they’re getting ready for bed, Bucky climbs in first and makes an impatient noise at Steve, glaring at the empty spot beside him. They switch off, and tonight it’s Steve’s turn to be the little spoon.

“Don’t make me beg,” Bucky says, when Steve hesitates, and that sends a spike of fear down Steve’s spine until he realizes Bucky’s grinning. Until he realizes that was a _joke_.

It’s the first one Bucky’s made since he came back.

Steve doesn’t laugh, just scrambles to comply, nearly breaking the bed in his haste to dive in. There’s not really enough room for Steve, there never has been, but he curls up close, and they make do.

***

A little over a month in, Bucky starts remembering enough to be angry, and bubbling not far underneath that, ashamed.

The first morning he wakes up like that, he comes downstairs without Steve even hearing him and hurls a knife at Steve while his back is turned, making coffee.

The blade flies just shy of grazing Steve’s ear before wedging itself into the wall in front of him. Steve says, “Holy,” and then catches himself, slowly turning around and showing Bucky his hands, raised non-threateningly in the air.

Bucky scowls at him, unimpressed. “I could kill you right here.”

Steve nods. “You could.” Bucky looks temporarily vindicated, until Steve adds, just as sure, “But you won’t.”

“You can’t know that,” Bucky snarls, and he looks more frightened than Steve’s seen since the riverbank.

He’s standing barefoot in Steve’s kitchen - in their kitchen - wearing Steve’s sweatpants and nothing else. Even so, Bucky’s right. He could kill Steve right here, right now, could probably manage it even if Steve fought back, which he wouldn’t do.

Doesn’t matter. Steve says, “I can. I know,” and crosses his arms, not backing down.

Bucky throws another knife - way off this time, not trying to hit Steve or even scare him, just blowing off steam - and then turns and stalks out of the room.

Steve goes back to making coffee. He doesn’t see Bucky for the rest of the day.

***

Sometime in the night, almost late enough to be morning, Bucky crawls into bed. Steve hasn’t been able to sleep, and when he rolls around and opens his arms, Bucky tucks into them right away.

Steve holds onto him tightly, arms and legs wrapping around Bucky. After a long time of just breathing together, holding on, Bucky says, “You have to be more careful.”

Steve kisses the top of Bucky’s forehead and says, “I’ll try.”

***

Three days later, Bucky looks at him across the breakfast table and says, “No more missions.”

“What?” Steve says, surprised enough that he doesn’t have time to think of a gentler way to say it.

Bucky shakes his head. “Until I’m better - until I can - no more missions.”

Maybe it makes him a bad national icon, a pisspoor hero, but Steve could honestly give a damn about the world at large right now. He nods easily and says, “Okay, Buck, I’ll wait for you.”

***

After much discussion and two broken chairs courtesy of Bucky’s attempt to prove he’s not fit for outside contact followed by a three hour cuddling session on the kitchen floor, Natasha and Sam are invited to dinner.

They make the food together, Steve giving Bucky soft instructions he follows perfectly, and hold hands when they answer the door.

Natasha smirks for a split second before she schools her features back into practiced neutrality, and Sam holds out a bottle of wine.

“I know you can’t actually get drunk,” he says, cutting off Steve’s comment. “It’s polite.”

Steve appreciates manners, always has. He smiles and takes the bottle with his free hand. Bucky looks down at it, and then up at Natasha and Sam. He presses his lips together in a disgruntled pout, and after a few seconds, he turns on his heels and flees the scene, half jogging upstairs and out of sight.

“Sorry,” Steve says, making no effort to go after him or call Bucky back.

“More food for us,” Natasha says calmly, and Sam nods with enthusiasm.

Steve smiles at them gratefully, and shows them both to the dining room. Once they’re all seated, food on their plates, Bucky comes back. He only stays long enough to steal the half empty casserole dish on the table, glare at Natasha and Sam, and then slinks out again.

Steve rubs his palm over his face. “Sorry,” he says again. “I thought we were doing better than this.”

Sam opens his mouth, and Steve is expecting a kindly worded lecture, but instead what comes out is, “Doesn’t seem like you’re doing too bad, actually. Good, even, I’d say. Not your fault he’s a cat.”

Steve momentarily panics and is halfway out of his chair saying, “What? He’s--” before Natasha holds up a hand and snaps him out of it.

“Relax, big guy, it’s a metaphor,” she says, her cheeks doing that thing he knows means she’s trying not to smile.

“Yeah, dude,” Sam says, grinning. “A cat one. We’re essentially strangers, interlopers in his territory, and right now, your best pal is a wet, angry cat who has fallen into a bathtub full of feelings. It’s huge that he let us come inside at all. No one’s expecting him to be particularly friendly.”

Steve stares at him, baffled, and then looks to Natasha for backup. “He has a point,” she says mildly.

“He - What?” Steve manages.

“Has he brought you any dead birds lately?” she asks, and he can hear the smile in her voice even though it doesn’t show up on her face.

“Squirrels, maybe?” Sam chimes in.

Choosing to be the better and more mature person, Steve ignores their teasing to say, “So he’s a cat, in a bathtub of feelings. Great. What am I supposed to do about that?”

“Offer him a hand getting out and then wrap him up tight in a warm, dry towel of emotional support,” Natasha says, with an impressively straight face, even for her.

“A warm, dry towel of emotional support,” Steve repeats back, a little judgmentally. He’ll be more polite about any advice they offer that’s actually helpful. “Where the hell am I supposed to find one of those?”

Sam and Natasha share a significant look across the table before both turning back to him with raised eyebrows.

“You’re the towel in this metaphor,” Sam explains, when Steve just stares back them blankly.

“I thought I was the bathtub full of feelings,” Steve says, because he did.

“Don’t be vain,” Natasha says, frowning at him slightly. “Barnes’ bathtub is probably filled with all kinds of other feelings, you know, like ones about deciding who he wants to be now that he finally has a choice after all the years of torture and mind control.” She says it lightly, but there’s a warning in her tone, too, if you’re listening for it. Steve is. “Not everything is only and always about you, Steve.”

He knows that - he does - and he can work on not always making everything about him and learning to be a better and less needy towel of emotional support for Bucky if that’s what it takes. He must actually say all that aloud, because Sam and Natasha both laugh. Steve can count on one hand the amount of times he’s seen Natasha laughing on the inside, and this outburst is definitely a first. Steve’s face puckers, he can’t help it, and, still wheezing a little, Sam points at him, and then starts laughing all over again.

Steve says, “Thanks guys, really,” and Natasha claps her hands together and honest to god giggles.

Steve takes back every nice thing he’s ever thought about them; he definitely needs better friends.

***

Bucky stays upstairs the rest of their visit, but he makes enough noise up there to let Steve know he’s okay. He can tell the difference between ‘scared’ and ‘sulking’ well enough by now, and this is definitely one of the latter times.

When he walks Sam and Natasha out, Natasha slugs him on the arm and says, “You’re doing a good job,” while looking him straight in the eye.

Steve must play up the ‘aw shucks’ modesty routine a little too much, because she narrows her eyes at him and hits him again, hard enough to hurt this time. “I’m serious.”

She usually is, but he refrains from mentioning that. She’s warned him before about sassing her. Instead, he grabs awkwardly at the back of his neck and says, “Thanks. I’m trying hard.”

“I know you are, and that’s good,” she says. He waits for the but. “It’s good, but it’s not always going to be enough, you know? You’re going to need help, both of you. This is too much to deal with alone.”

Steve knows that too, but he doesn’t have to like it. His last shrink turned out to be one of the bad guys, and he’s not feeling particularly trusting of others lately. Still, her advice had been pretty helpful until his doctor turned out to be a Hydra mole gathering intel on Captain America and feeding information about his vulnerabilities to her superiors.

He doesn’t say anything, but Natasha gets it, touching him one last time and adding, “I have some recommendations, when you’re both ready. No one evil, I promise.”

He’ll take her word for it, when the time comes. It’s just not going to be tonight.

She gets that too, and starts walking away without another word, only to stop halfway down the sidewalk and say over her shoulder, “You probably won’t be seeing me for a while.”

He figured. As it was, Steve had been shocked when she actually answered his phone call. He hadn’t even been expecting the number to work, and she’d almost hung up on him, he took so long to actually say hello, surprised as he was when she picked up. 

“Be safe,” he says, not thinking for a second about trying to dissuade her from disappearing again, just knowing that he’s going to miss her, even though he’s only recently started to understand how important she actually is to him.

There’s no time to talk about any of that now, no space for it in what room they have made for each other, but that’s okay. This is more of a goodbye than Steve was expecting, especially when Natasha salutes smartly before turning and walking away. It’s as close to a promise from her as he could ever hope to get. It’s plenty.

Still on the steps beside him, Sam coughs, and says, “Me you’ll see next Sunday, tenish. I’m inviting myself over for brunch.”

Steve blinks at him, and then puts a grateful arm around Sam’s shoulders, leaning on him a little. “Sounds good,” he says, almost smiling.

Sam salutes too, and then Steve watches him go, already thinking about how he’s going to convince Bucky to at least stay on the same floor with them next time.

***

Bucky’s not just sulking when Steve finally makes his way upstairs after cleaning up the remains of dinner. He’s pissed.

“What is it?” Steve says, after Bucky’s given up pacing around him angrily and is now backed up into the furthest corner of their bedroom, glaring at Steve with his arms wrapped protectively around his chest.

“You smell,” Bucky says through gritted teeth, after clearly holding it in as long as he can.

Steve lifts an arm and sniffs himself automatically. He smells fine, maybe a little like Sam’s aftershave, and Natasha’s faint eau de gunpowder, but it’s barely anything, and hardly anything to get upset about.

Except --

“They touched you,” Bucky says, and this too comes out reluctantly through gritted teeth, more like a snarl than actual words. 

Steve understands what he means anyway. At least this is a problem he knows how to fix.

“I’m sorry,” he says, to start, and Bucky nods a little, open to the possibility of mollification. He holds out for more though, and Steve scrambles to give it to him. “I can shower, wash it all off?” Bucky nods again. “And then we’ll just lie down for a bit, okay? You can touch me as much you like until I smell right again.”

He doesn't think _until I smell like you_ needs to be said, but he’ll say it if Bucky wants him to.

“No clothes,” Bucky negotiates, looking proud of himself for pushing his luck.

Steve’s proud of him too, but he compromises. “Boxers,” he says, and then contains a sigh of relief when Bucky nods, not sure he’s ready for that kind of touching yet, whether Bucky thinks of it that way or not. Toweling Bucky off after his own showers every night has been difficult enough.

Having reached an accord, Bucky follows Steve silently into the bathroom, looking relaxed and content now that he’s gotten his way. Steve strips quickly and steps into the shower, and Bucky stands guard the whole time, carefully observing his progress through the frosted glass of the shower door.

***

It’s not always just strangers who spook Bucky. Sometimes Bucky hides from Steve all day, although Steve always knows where to find him. It’s always one of three places - the attic, the shed in the backyard, or the closet in the spare bedroom Bucky has otherwise refused to enter.

This particular time, he’s in the closet, hunched on the ground as far back as he can go, pressed tight into the corner. It’s dinner time, and Steve’s let him hide as long as he can stand.

Steve stands in front of the closet, double doors pulled open wide so he can get a good look at Bucky, try and assess the situation.

It’s dark in the closet, but Steve turned the light in the bedroom on when he came in, and Bucky just blinks up at him for awhile, adjusting. Steve scans his face, checking for damage. It doesn’t look like he’s been crying.

“Bad dream?” he says, anyway. That’s usually what sends Bucky running.

Bucky shakes his head, arms coming to wrap themselves around his chest, hands gripping his shoulders like a makeshift straight jacket. Steve barely notices the metal arm anymore, but he’s looking at it now, deadly fingers digging into Bucky’s skin.

“I remembered the first time I fucked you,” Bucky says, distant and pained.

Steve staggers a little at that one, has to grab the wall to steady himself. Definitely not what he’d been expecting. He’s not sure what to say here, so he settles for watching, waiting Bucky out.

Eventually, he starts talking again. “I was getting dressed this morning, and it came to me - all of it, just like that.” He snaps his fingers, and then goes back to hugging himself. “One minute the memory wasn’t there, and the next I was - it was like I was right back there with you.” His mouth twists, looking back down at the ground and away from Steve. “You were so small, so beautiful. It felt so good, being in you, and I wanted - I remember being so afraid I was going to hurt you, even then. I shouldn’t - Steve. I remembered, and I wanted, but--”

Steve waits, but Bucky doesn’t say anything more. He just locks his jaw, teeth grinding audibly, and holds his breath like he’s braced for punishment. That hasn’t happened in awhile.

“But you came in here instead?” Steve tries, and then, before he can help himself, he laughs. Just a short chuckle, but it snaps Bucky out of his trance a bit, and he looks up at Steve, fuming.

“Why are you laughing about this?” he demands, in a tone that clearly indicates this is another one of those times when Steve isn’t taking his own personal safety nearly seriously enough for Bucky’s liking.

“Sorry,” Steve says, waving his hand. “It’s just - it’s an expression, after our time, but. It’s a word for being well, queer, I guess, but hiding it. Being in the closet. That’s what they call it sometimes.”

“Are you queer?” Bucky asks, blatantly hopeful.

Steve shrugs. “I guess I am, I haven’t really thought about it that way. I think I could like gals or guys, if it was the right person, but I’ve never worried about it much.”

“Why not?”

“Never had to, really. There’s always been - you’ve always been it for me, Buck.”

“And now?” Bucky asks, still holding himself protectively, low and tensed on the ground.

Steve offers him a hand, and after he says, “Now’s still part of always,” Bucky lets Steve pull him up.

***

The first time Steve coaxes Bucky out of the house for something other than their daily jog, they go grocery shopping at ten o’clock at night. Steve isn’t looking to attract any attention, good or bad, so he bundles them both in oversized hoodies, throws a ballcap over his hair and hides his smile at Bucky’s choice of camouflage - Aviator sunglasses that cover most of his face, and a slouchy red beanie. He takes the shades off when they get inside, but still keeps the hat pulled low over his forehead. Steve mans the cart, and they peruse the shelves slowly, Bucky trailing behind Steve with a hand balled up around the back of Steve’s navy blue hoodie, the metal one shoved deep into the front pocket of his own.

When Steve first woke up, and saw everything you could buy at the store nowadays, he’d been so overwhelmed and guilty feeling he’d abandoned his cart half full of items, and just fled the store, running all the way home. Bucky handles the situation with considerably more poise and dignity, although he does almost draw on an elderly woman who cuts Steve off with her cart as they both try to turn into the produce aisle.

“Ladies first, Buck,” Steve says, crowding him up against a nearby shelf of canned soups to avoid a worse scene.

Bucky lets himself be manhandled, making a low happy noise when Steve puts one hand over his mouth and wraps the other around the back of Bucky’s neck, applying just enough pressure to show Steve’s in control. Bucky nods a little, not struggling in the slightest against Steve’s hold, and Steve withdraws slowly, letting his hands linger and smooth out the tension in Bucky’s face and shoulders.

Once Bucky’s calm, they keep shopping, and don’t have another incident until Bucky spots a man walking down the dairy aisle with what looks to be his daughter and his seeing eye dog. Bucky watches the dog, not the man or the girl, and swallows tightly when they’re out of sight.

“Do they sell those here?” he asks, hopeful like he so rarely allows himself to be these days.

“What, dogs?” Steve says, laughing softly under his breath despite himself.

“Yeah,” Bucky says, the same hungry look in his eyes. “We should get one,” he adds, and Steve can’t tell if it’s a real suggestion or just a wishful one.

Steve wants to give in right then and there, leave their groceries behind and go out and buy the first available dog they can find, anything to replace the longing on Bucky’s face with satisfaction, but he and Bucky have their hands more than full just looking after each other right now, and while dogs may be therapeutic and also adorable, it feels like a bigger step than either of them are ready for.

Short of giving Bucky everything and anything he wants, Steve wishes he could at least make a joke to ease the tension, something about cats and dogs not getting along, but then Steve remembers that Bucky wasn’t actually there for that conversation he had with Natasha and Sam, and might not appreciate the attempt at humor even if he had been.

Instead, Steve puts a consoling hand on Bucky’s shoulder, massaging a little, and says, “Let’s work up to it, huh, Buck?”

Bucky nods, looking motivated instead of disappointed. Steve shouldn’t be so surprised really, he realizes. It’s always nice to have a goal.

***

There’s no shining moment where everything suddenly falls perfectly into place, all the things Bucky’s forgotten coming back to him in order, in a way that makes sense. There’s no magical turning point, after which everything is okay again, when Bucky turns back into his old self and somehow Steve does, too.

On the bright side, there’s also no switch that gets flipped, no morning Steve wakes up with Bucky actually trying to kill him, with Bucky forgetting he ever remembered his own name. No one comes for them, no one tries to take Bucky away. For once, there are no explosions. No gunshots and no flames.

Instead, there are good days and bad days. Still more bad than good, but Steve’s getting better at handling those ones. They both are.

In some ways, the progress is what hurts the most, ripping into painful wounds it’s easier to leave festering, to try to pretend away. The nightmares don’t stop, and sometimes they happen when Bucky is awake. He doesn’t try to attack Steve, or even pretend like he’s going to, but there are other changes that almost feel worse than if he pulled a gun on Steve. Or maybe that’s just Steve being dramatic again. 

However you want to slice it, the more Bucky remembers, the more standoffish he becomes, less and less likely to reach out for Steve, to accept his offers of comfort. He knows now that he can go hours not touching Steve without it causing Steve physical pain, and he takes advantage of that knowledge more and more. It confuses Steve, hurts his feelings, although he tells himself that part doesn’t matter, and he tries to leave it out of the ten minute rant he subjects Sam to on the subject when he calls him to complain.

“Don’t you think it should be the other way around?” Steve asks when he’s finally run out of steam, too far gone to be embarrassed about the whine in his voice.

“Not really,” Sam says, sounding somewhere between laughing at Steve and still sympathetically acknowledging his pain.

“Well, why--”

“Think about it, man. The more he remembers, the more he realizes how much he needs you, how much he owes you.”

“Bucky doesn’t owe me anything,” Steve protests.

Sam doesn’t let him get very far with that, saying, “I know that man, I know. You both - whatever weird decades-defying thing you two’ve got going on is clearly mutual, and you’ve both gone through your share of shit to find your way back to each other again. It’s beautiful, really. The power of love and all that. But it’s probably going to take him some time to see it that way, to believe that you need him as much as he needs you, and that it’s okay for both of you to feel that way.”

It’s like starting from the beginning all over again, working their way through years of Steve’s resistance to his need for Bucky, his perceived weakness, until he’d finally gotten strong enough in body to realize it was never that, not really. Until he realized it was fine to draw strength from someone who cares about you when you’re running short of it yourself.

It’s back to square one, maybe worse, but that’s okay. They’ve done it before, they can do it again. Circumstances may be different now, harder in almost every way, but they’re together. They’re alive. The rest is just icing, and they can figure out how to make things work just like they always have, by trusting each other, supporting each other, one day at a time.

***

That particular day, he doesn’t see Bucky until dinner, but Steve makes enough for both of them like he always does. Bucky comes to the table when Steve calls for him, and sits down in his spot at the table without a fuss.

Bucky eats a few dutiful bites of the pasta and salad Steve’s made for them before putting his fork down and saying, “Sam’s wrong, you know.”

Steve puts his fork down at that, too, but it’s more of a startled drop than the smoothly deliberate motion Bucky made.

“He is?” Steve asks, heart starting to race a little. He hid in the bathroom with the water running to have that conversation.

“It’s not about owing you,” Bucky answers, not quite looking at Steve. “That’s part of it, sure, but mostly it’s - I’ve gotta be able to stand on my own feet a little, learn how to get by without you always holding my hand.”

“Buck--”

“I’m not pulling away from you, Steve, I swear I’m not, but it can’t just be one way, me leaning on you all the time. I can be strong for you, too, I just need to remember how. Gotta find enough pieces and keep them together long enough so that there’s someone solid for you to hold onto, same as you do for me. You can understand that, right?”

Steve thinks he can, hopes so, and goes with what feels right, a smile and his hand briefly covering Bucky’s own. “I get it, Buck,” he says, and then squeezing once, Steve removes his hand and asks, “How’d you know what Sam and I were talking about, anyway?” still smiling, hoping to lighten the mood.

Bucky just shrugs, and picks up his fork, mouth full of food before answers, “Sam had the whole place bugged before we moved in, gave me all the receivers when we got the keys.”

Steve thinks of a half dozen responses before he settles on saying, “That’s a lot of trust.”

Bucky jams another forkful of food into his mouth and says, “You said he was a friend,” like that’s the end of it.

It seems like a huge leap, a success that should be catalogued and celebrated, even if it was weeks ago now and Steve didn’t even know about it at the time, but Bucky just keeps eating, posture relaxed and expression untroubled, for once, and Steve decides not to make a big deal out of it if Bucky isn’t going to. They can celebrate just by doing this, by eating together and taking simple pleasure in each other’s company.

***

Falling asleep in each other’s arms that night, Bucky presses his lips into Steve’s neck as he says, “I might never remember everything, and even if I do, I’m never going to be that guy again, the one from the memories. I can’t ever be him, not even if I tried for the rest of my life. Too much has happened.”

Maybe before the serum, it would have been too muffled for Steve to hear, but he catches the words ghosted against his skin whether he’s meant to or not.

He holds onto Bucky a little tighter and says, “I know, Buck, it’s okay.”

“Why?” Bucky says, eyes wide in the dark, searching Steve’s face for a trick, or the truth.

Steve kisses him then, the lightest graze of his lips against Bucky’s, not sure why he’s ready now of all times, just unable to stop himself, and says, “I still need you, Bucky, no matter how different each of us has become, and even if I didn’t need you like I do, I’d still want you with me.”

“I’m with you,” Bucky vows, face hidden against Steve’s skin again, and Steve strokes his back with his fingers for awhile before responding.

“I know you are, Buck. I know you. That’s why it’s okay. Whoever you are, no matter what, you’re Bucky, and I want you with me. I love you.”

Bucky jerks in his hold, pulling far enough away to look Steve in the eyes when he says, not quite certain, “You’ve never said that before.”

“First time for everything, right?” Steve says, suddenly shy for all that they’re still tangled together, neither of them dressed in more than boxers, skin against skin.

Bucky doesn’t say anything, doesn't tell Steve he loves him too, but he’s starting to smile to himself in a soft, secret way.

Steve steals another kiss from Bucky’s lips, pulling him closer again, and says, “Neither of us can go back, Bucky, but that doesn’t have to mean letting each other go. We’re here now, both of us, and I know between the two of us we can figure out how to move forward.”

“Yeah, what’s that look like? Where do we go?” Bucky asks, still fighting him a little, but clearly hoping Steve has the answer.

He doesn’t, no specifics, at least, but his response seems to satisfy Bucky anyway. “I don’t know, don’t care so much either, really. Just as long as we get there together.”

“Together sounds good,” Bucky says, and he winds his arms around Steve’s neck, kissing him one more time, before falling to sleep.

That night, neither of them dream.


End file.
